monsters
by Mr boaty mcboatface
Summary: It's easier to pretend that what his eyes see, heart desires, are lies. Otherwise, those lashes will crawl across his cheeks when he closes his eyes at night – in the form of a nightmare.


I'm 100% sure no one reads poetry on here, so I'll upload this.

I'm still doing the 30 day challenge but it's more like a 60+ day challenge because university is kicking my ass and I am so dead inside. I just wanted to write something small and creative as a stress-relief, so here is a "poem". I wrote... all of it... tired and sleep-deprived, but oh well.

I emphasise _poem_ because this is as free-form poetry you can get. It's borderline a story, I know it lacks poetic techniques and whatever, but I don't have time to add more structure and fix the language. 2 busy being in debt to the government and not getting my debts-worth of education, ya feel.

* * *

 **monster**

* * *

It begins with  
torn and worn edges,  
maths textbook.

Kitchen bench,  
they huddle together,  
minds churning.

She leans forward.  
So does he –  
They're breathing same air.

Hands touch  
sending sparks past  
his eyes,

through his mind,  
down his legs  
to his toes.

Everywhere between  
lights up like  
Christmas.

Cast a side glance,  
she doesn't seem  
to feel it too.

He's not old enough  
to understand electricity's  
current –

Setting aside,  
it fades into  
mind's edges,

to be thought again  
when all begins  
making sense.

•

She shrinks.  
He can see  
over her headband.

Something quivers  
inside him;  
a monster.

It dislikes  
blue eyes,  
long lashes, her.

His heart twists,  
painful, as if  
the monster

has seized his  
organs, pulling  
all apart.

He wants her  
to look more,  
look away.

Stop looking,  
but linger longer  
please.

He snarls  
at the beast  
who craves.

His heart,  
being torn apart.  
Right from

wrong, blurred  
as he drowns  
in her gaze.

•

There's a stranger  
in the bathroom,  
he thinks.

He isn't sure  
if it's him  
or her.

Her eyes  
closed, mind  
long distant.

His hands shake,  
fingers white  
as toothpaste.

He forgets  
how she sounds,  
sometimes.

They are silent.  
Mouths pressed.  
Ears blocked.

He stops looking,  
so it's  
easier

to ignore the  
monster chewing  
at his mind.

•

Curved over,  
golden wisps waver  
in morning light.

Her lashes dark,  
brushing against  
speckled cheeks.

He looks through  
his fingers,  
tired.

If his eyes  
linger too  
long, then,

he'd break down  
as electricity  
burnt him out.

He could not look  
at her,  
won't look.

It's easier  
to pretend  
that

what his eyes  
see, heart  
desires, are lies.

Otherwise,  
those lashes  
will crawl

across his cheeks  
when he  
closes his eyes

at night –  
in the form of  
a nightmare.

•

I don't need  
love, he  
whispers.

Wood boards  
cold under  
his feet,

seeping from  
cracks under  
a door.

She has  
someone else  
to gaze at.

Someone else  
to drive  
insane.

After being  
the monster  
for so long,

the boy  
realises he  
had torn

his heart apart,  
now craves  
another's.

But the remaining  
pieces  
still his hand,

steering  
him back  
to bed.

Safe, safe  
in  
bed.

•

Growing older,  
not wiser,  
the difference

he comes to  
realise  
someday.

Somehow  
they'd drifted  
apart

and yet  
the tides pulled  
them back again.

She tucks  
a strand  
behind an ear

looks nervous,  
and says,  
"I need you."

His monster  
chuckles, dark.  
"She loves you."

He stands  
frozen like  
a pillar.

"I don't know."

Running screams,  
the best  
idea.

His feet  
plant themselves  
in ground.

He begins growing  
weeds from  
his knees.

"I know  
you hate me,  
and I'm sorry –"

Don't be  
sorry, he  
says.

His mouth  
numbs  
and shuts.

Her eyes search  
for a sign of  
life in his.

•

Has she always  
been this  
small?

She fits, a  
perfect puzzle piece,  
into

gaping wounds  
from an internal  
battle.

He regrets  
all those missing  
years as

he ran away  
from  
himself.

For he holds  
a stranger  
in his arms,

and she loves  
him, though  
he was always

sure she  
felt  
different.

Maybe his  
eyes were  
eaten out, too.

Stolen by  
the monster,  
who told him

to fear his  
love in the  
first place.

He was whole  
again, and  
whole

felt very,  
very  
 _wrong._

* * *

Up for your interpretation.

Now I must sleep to prepare to be awoken at 6am tomorrow to have a picture taken of me, and many others, looking very sleep deprived.


End file.
